The jet ride seems sooo long. I, having an extremely short attention span, am restless an hour after we leave already.

When we finally get there, it's raining. Not a thunderstorm, either, just an obnoxiously slow, cold drizzle. The sky is grey. I miss thunderstorms.

"Great, this is just the place for someone with lung problems," I say sarcastically, crossing my arms grouchily in front of my chest.

"Exactly. Umm…okay, so I made reservations for us at a hotel for tonight, in London. It's right near the hospital you'll be going to."

"Wow, that's just great, Ben! Thanks!" I scowl.

"You know, it wouldn't hurt to show me some gratitude. It wasn't exactly easy arranging this for you. Okay, grab my hand." We apparate into an alleyway right next to the hotel, so as to not be seen by any muggles. It looks pretty dingy, in my opinion. The hotel, I mean.

"Home sweet hostel," I say without enthusiasm.

The lady sitting at the front desk is very old, with one of those hideous wigs snipped into a messy bob. With bangs. She looks like she could use a serious vacation.

"Hullo, my name is Ms. Malcolm, do you have a reservation?" Her accent sounds so funny to me. I grin for the first time in hours.

"Aye, we do, we do. Jolly good weather, innit? Nice little rain cluds." I say in my own British accent. I sound a bit like a drunk pirate, though, unfortunately. Malcolm gives me a deeply insulted look before turning to my brother.

"Name?" She asks, all signs of friendliness gone. Sheesh, so I guess the British don't have senses of humor.

"DeVough. Benjamin and Maxine."

"Here's your key, you're in room 112. Mind you keep your voices down too, you hear? Don't want a racket wakin' up the other guests, do I? No, I do not." She tosses a key to Ben, who catches it easily thanks to his superb ninja reflexes.

The room is small, and smells like cat pee. Lovely. It has two small little beds with no sheets, no blankets, and no pillows.

"They forgot to get us sheets and pillows." I say to Ben, who's frowning at me.

"No, they didn't. I asked them not to give us any."

"What? Why the hell would you do that? You may not mind if you get a neck cramp from sleeping with no head support, but I sure as hell do. Go back down there right now and make them give us some." I'm tempted to stomp my foot, but decide not to just in time.

"Max, the operation they are going to do on you is really expensive. Rooms without pillows, towels, and bedspreads are a lot cheaper than rooms with them. I figure we can just conjure something up for ourselves. That way we're saving money."

"Fine, fine! Make 'em soft, though, or else. When am I getting this operation, anyway?"

"I'm not sure. We're supposed to go in for a consultation tomorrow at noon; I suppose they'll tell us then. How do you feel?"

"Fine. I just…I'm really tired, and I…" I pause.

"You what?"

"Oh, never mind. Thank you for everything, Benny. I love you, really, even if I'm mean to you a lot of the time."

"And you know I love you, Max. That's why I'm doing all this. If you die—" he closes his eyes, and buries his face in his hands, groaning. His blond hair is messy, messier than he ever lets it get. I want to comfort him, to tell him I won't die, and that it'll all be okay.

"Everyone dies, Ben. Don't worry, I'm not gonna give up that easily. You're gonna be stuck with me for a while longer, I'm afraid." I grin.

"Come'ere." He pulls me into a hug, and I finally, finally feel at home. Because home is wherever Ben is. I don't need anything else, as long as I've got my big brother.

I wake up with a hellish neck cramp and throbbing headache. It isn't morning yet; I can tell, because it's still dark outside. Yep, I'm quite the detective.

Ben is still sleeping, the blanket he'd conjured last night hardly big enough to cover all of him. His pillow is on the floor next to the bed; he must have thrown it off by accident or something. I pick it up, fluff it a bit, and stuff it under his head again; he just grumbles, scowls, and turns away from me. I smile affectionately at this behavior; he's so cute when he's sleeping. When he's awake, it's another matter altogether.

Since I'm up, I decide to practice some spellwork. I'm a sixth year, but I'm actually 17; I just turned it a couple weeks ago. Ben is 18; we both started school a bit late, due to our parents' illnesses. Anyway, what this means is that I'm legally allowed to use magic, apparate, etcetera. Yay!

Well, that's my attitude about it until I accidentally set my hair on fire.

"BEN! OH, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, IT BURRRRNS!"

Ben shoots up in bed, stares at me for a second, then sends a stream of water shooting out of his wand, soaking me.

(Wow, that sounded wrong.)

"I won't ask." He says, before lying back down and falling asleep again. I run into the bathroom to check out the damage.

Oooh. Not good. My hair is singed badly on one side; now it looks really uneven. Uneven-er, I should say. Hmmm…awhile ago, back in Washington, I tried out some cool hair-cutting spells; maybe they'll work. I take my wand, concentrating very hard on my hair, and slash it through the air, in a series of complicated swishes and flicks. When I'm finished, I actually don't look half bad, miracle of miracles. I might even look good! My hair is now down to my shoulders instead of halfway down my back, and the blonde curls look good layered. I'm a GENIUS! In disguise, of course.

I'm so pleased with my work I decide to go and cut Ben's hair while I'm at it. He's sleeping still, and once he's out, he's out, so it shouldn't be that big of a problem. I sit him up; his neck sort of flops around a bit, but I hold it in place.

Swishy, swishy, flicky, flicky.

And voila! Perfect job, self.

Oh, why thank you!

Any time.

I rest his head back on his pathetic attempt at a pillow, and he goes right on snoring. Now, since my last attempt at magic didn't end so well, I decide to focus on the charms I definitely know. Like the hovering charm. For ten minutes I entertain myself by racing my hairbrush around the room in circles above my head. Hmmm…I wonder…could I make two things fly around at once? I've never really heard of anyone being able to do it, but…

I keep my wand moving around the room, directing the hairbrush, while my wind wanders and focuses in on a book lying on the floor. The hairbrush falls. Damn. I guess I have to focus in on both of them at the same time, which won't be easy, especially for someone with my short attention span. I try again, first getting the hairbrush moving, then trying to split some of my focus up and sending it to the book. I raise my hand in the book's direction, pushing all of my magic out through me. And then, two things happen at once: the book lifts up off the ground, just barely, and the hairbrush sinks lower, but doesn't fall. YESSSS! Success! I guess it makes sense that my magic could be weaker split up like that. I concentrate harder, and focus all of my energy and power out through my hand and wand. The book lifts considerably, and I get it to start flying around the room, right behind the hairbrush. I can feel sweat beading on my forehead, and I'm getting an awful headache from having to split up my energy like that, but I keep them racing, faster and faster.

And then, Ben wakes up. "What are you do—" he notices the hairbrush and book flying around above his head, and his mouth drops. My concentration falters, and both the book and the hairbrush clatter to the ground. All my strength leaves me, and I collapse onto the floor, feeling very dizzy. It's like all the energy has been sucked out of me.

"Max, what in the world is England going to do with you?" I hear Ben ask, right before I fall asleep.

I dream of Jackson, and butterflies, and Sex God Danny playing soccer, and flowers, and…hold it, what is Benny's foot doing over my face? I'm pretty sure it's not supposed to be there!

I wake up coughing and gagging on a certain disgusting stench, and sit up quickly. Ben lifts his foot away triumphantly.

"Ha! I knew that'd wake you up!" He says proudly. I just glare at him.

"Anyone who's smug about having the most disgusting-smelling feet in Washington has some serious issues." I say.

"Well, we're not in Washington anymore, Maxi!"

Woah. "WHAT? Oh…wait…riiiiight, it's all coming back to me now…something about a brother forcing me to fly halfway across the world to some remote town in some remote country in some remote little continent."

"If by 'remote town' you mean London, by 'remote country' you mean England, and by 'remote little continent,' you mean all of Europe, then yes, you would be correct."

Pfft. Smarty-pants.

"Europe can't be that big. What's it have, like twelve countries or something? Wait, or was it seven…"

Ben just stares at me, mouth open.

Stare.

Stare.

"Well, Max, if by 'seven' you really mean 'almost fifty,' then yes you would be—"

"Okay, okay! Sheesh!" I snap. "What's for breakfast?"

"I brought you up some scones and biscuits, leftover from yesterday's tea. I got them for free; they were about to throw them out," Ben says proudly.

I glare distrustfully at the plate of crusty-looking pastries Ben is holding out to me. "As much as I wish I could eat moldy, day-old bread, I think I'll have to pass. I'm suddenly feeling really sick." My stomach grumbles loudly. Gosh! Play along, why don't you! My own body betraying me…what a surprise.

Ben just scoffs.

"Fine, then. Your appointment with the hospital is in half an hour, so if you're not hungry, you'd better get ready. Dress nicely; you want to make a good impression. Oh…and did you do something with your hair? It looks…nice."

I just stare at him. I chopped at least four inches off, and he's asking if I did something with my hair? Sheesh. Boys.

"No, I did nothing with my hair. But I did do something with yours!" I say, before racing into the bathroom and locking the door.

"MAAAX! GET OUT HERE RIGHT THIS MINUTE!" He tries to come in. I shriek, laughing.

"I'm changing! Leave me alone, you perv!" Grumbling madly, he storms off. There's no mirror out there; he'll have to wait till I'm done to see his new do. Heheh.

I change into a nice pare of jeans and my favorite pink hoodie. It's the only pink article of clothing that I own; I got it when I was about twelve or something. I comb my hair out, put on so much make-up I can hardly see anything underneath it all, and am ready to roll. The second I step outside, Ben's mouth falls open, gaping at me.

"What did you do to your face?"

"It's called make-up, brother dearest." I try and walk past him, but he blocks me.

"Yes, I KNOW it's make-up. What I meant was, WHY are you wearing make-up; it makes you look twice your age. And like a hooker." I scowl, hurt. My own brother, questioning my morality.

"Well, Ben, it took you long enough to realize the fact that I've been having sex for money since the age of seven." I say.

"Not funny. Now come on, we gotta go." We leave the hotel; on the way out I wave to the lady at the front desk, winking. She glares at me.

Well, then.

The "hospital" Ben said I'll be going to looks suspiciously like an out-of-date clothing store. I entertain myself by making faces at the dummies in the window until we can finally enter. And…oh, my god.

Fifty-percent-off-sale on summer swimwear! Score!

Haha, just kidding. The hospital is huge. Immediately we are chauffeured over to a line, where we then wait until some lady with a weird-looking hat-thingy asks us what we're here for.

"Maxine DeVough, for a consultation. My name's Benjamin DeVough."

"Of course. Follow the yellow brick road, and you'll get where you want to go."

Umm…so I guess I was wrong. About the British not having senses of humor, I mean. Either that, or they're all just crazy. But—holy crap, there's the yellow road she speaks of! Right there, below my feet, leading upwards! Maybe they have these to make sure visitors don't get lost. Everyone knows Americans can't follow verbal directions, after all. Pfft.

"I just have one question then, Ma'am." I say politely. "If quizzes are quizzical, then what are tests?"

"Excuse me?"

"Well, I wouldn't ask, but it seems that Ben has been having some trouble with his—"

"We're going now! Thank you for your help!" Ben drags me away, blushing furiously. "What the hell was that for? What have I ever done to you?"

"Well, besides dragging me away from my school, my friends, and my future husband, not to mention my continent, nothing."

He folds his arms crossly in front of his chest, and raises an eyebrow threateningly at me.

"And you are the bestest brother in the world, and I love you."

"Good answer."

"Thanks."

And, off we go. Following a yellow brick road.

A/N: Next chapter Max will meet James! I've decided to at least submit enough chapters for you to see the couple in action. Thanks for reading!